Dark is the Night
by Kehlan
Summary: For the first time in millennia, the Terran Halloween coincides with the Klingon Day of the Dead and the Romulan Night of blood. the Dutchman approaches Starbase 24 and the crew must somehow defeat him or lose their souls.
1. Chapter 1

_This story was written for a Halloween challenge. I don't own Star Trek and I am not making any profit or money from this story. It is written and shared prely for fun. I do own my own characters._

* * *

 _"This is the age of the Dutchman... He has passed this way before, and will pass this way again. Cursed, he travels alone. No soul alive knows from whence he came, or where he goes._

 _Portent of doom…"_

* * *

Somewhere, sometime, in the depths of an as yet unknown rift, a ship floated, apparently serenely through space, cold and empty, its abandoned corridors devoid of life. Yet it had a destination, a purpose. Unseen hands tended its helm, taking it to its destiny, even as unseen minds called out desperately in warning.

"They do not listen." The words were unspoken and yet they were heard.

"They MUST listen." Another unseen, unheard voice replied, its concern evident in its silent tones.

"We bring doom and we cannot stop it," the first voice worried, " _He_ is too dangerous. We cannot defy _Him_. We must obey."

"He approaches," a third voice warned and the speakers fell silent as the bridge doors creaked open, admitting something as unseen as they were, yet with a sense of great power, of great evil. The temperature in the already freezing room dropped further and the spirits shivered, both with cold and fear. A crackling of electricity filled the air as their captor came into the centre of the bridge.

"We are there," the being known as the Dutchman warned the unseen crew, "Prepare to re-enter the timeline."

* * *

The Admiral in command of Starbase 24 glared at his assembled colleagues. "Where is Kehlan?"

N'Sal hid a grin at the demand. "She declined to attend," the Romulan mercenary informed him, "Her exact words were I believe, GET LOST!"

Mackenzie sighed. "Too busy with ship repairs, I imagine. Very well, we will continue without her. We can't afford to wait. Krang, what do you have for me?"

"You already know there is unrest on the Starbase," his Head of Security and Intel responded. "The news-casts indicate that Qo'noS, Romulus and Earth are no better. It's been a thousand years since the Empires aligned in this way. For our Day of the Dead to coincide with your Halloween and the Romulan Night of Blood is unprecedented."

"It's ridiculous," Khetara snapped. The Klingon General had no tolerance for superstitious nonsense, "Nothing more than myth and legend."

Mackenzie took a deep breath. "It's not a legend. At least…" he amended, "not _just_ a legend."

"You are saying…" N'Sal chose her words carefully "that this alignment really is causing... or will cause... an opening between the worlds?" She shivered at the thought.

Mackenzie nodded. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Between which worlds, is open to debate. Whether it's the otherworld, an alternate universe, or even a rift into another layer of this universe, I don't know."

Krang's mind was already turning to practical matters. "Then if a doorway is about to open, we should be ready for it, and on high alert. We do not know what is on the other side or what will come through once the door is opened."

"According to folklore," Mackenzie said, "The Flying Dutchman is a ghost ship that can never make port, doomed to sail the oceans forever. It's usually seen glowing with ghostly light. If hailed, its crew will try to send messages to land or to people long dead. The sight of this phantom ship is a portent of doom."

"So it's a Terran legend," Khetara said thoughtfully, "But I doubt those old horror stories are what is worrying you."

You're right, Khetara. I don't know how to explain it, I just need you to trust me. The Dutchman is coming… and soon." Anticipating the next question, Mackenzie added, "Yes, the term 'Dutchman' refers to both ship and pilot. We must be prepared for him. All our ships are in their positions and ready. I can't tell them what to be ready for. I don't know how he will come, or in what form. The only certainty is that he _will_ come."

"Then we fight!" Krang grunted.

"No, my friends, this is my fight." Holding up a hand to forestall the inevitable protests, Mackenzie turned away from them and touched his combadge. He had always known his enemy would return. Finally it was time to face the inevitable. "Docking Control, I need a shuttlecraft fuelled and ready to depart immediately,"

"Hell, no you don't!" Not completely to his surprise, N'Sal was the first to object.

Mackenzie sighed. "No arguments, N'Sal. I have to go. And before you say you're coming with me, I have to go alone."

"Dammit, James! It's suicide! A shuttle will offer no protection! At least take Rapier?"  
Khetara snorted. "What good is a decommissioned runabout if the situation is so dangerous?"

N'Sal grinned. "She's had a few upgrades since she left Starfleet's service." Drawing a command chip from her jacket, she pressed it into Mackenzie's hand. "Take Rapier, James. And come back safe or Kehlan will be unbearable!"

"My personal yacht is far better, "Khetara protested. "It is modified according to my wishes and its crew would serve you well."

"I can't accept, Khetara," he said quietly, "I won't put other lives at risk."

Khetara nodded reluctantly. "Go then and be..." She just stopped herself from telling him to be careful. "Come back victorious. N'Sal is right, if you don't, Kehlan will be unbearable."

Mackenzie gave a slight smile. " _Qapla_ ' my friend." With nothing more to be said, he turned and made his way towards the private shuttle-bay where Rapier was berthed.


	2. Chapter 2

Deep in Endeavour's bowels, Kehlan continued working, at the same time waiting for the explosion of outrage at her refusal to attend yet another meeting. Time passed with only silence from the communicators and for no good reason, Kehlan began to feel uneasy. Tightening the final bolt, she slid out from under the console. "Are we almost done yet?"

"I think so, Captain," the chief engineer informed her, "We'll be ready for active duty in half an hour or so."

"That's good news," Kehlan congratulated him, "Well done."

Sitting up, she stretched the cramp out of her shoulders and as she did so the feeling of unease increased. Despite all the tests to the contrary, Kehlan was a telepath and she had long since learned to listen to her instincts. Her mate was in trouble. She could feel it. "Computer, where is Admiral Mackenzie?"  
 _"Admiral Mackenzie is in shuttle bay 6, berth 62 alpha."_

Kehlan frowned. That was Rapier's berth; there was no reason for him to be there. Getting to her feet, she headed out of engineering at a run, straight for her husband's empty office. If he was going to act the hero, he would need his sword. It took her only moments to arrive at her destination, retrieve the old katana from its place on the wall and call the transporter room. Before she knew it, the familiar environs of the office had faded out to be replaced by the shuttle-bay and the facade of the ex-Starfleet runabout now known as Rapier.

"You're not coming with me, Kehlan." Mackenzie sounded tired and stressed. He'd had enough arguments about this and didn't need another one with his wife.

"I know. I thought you might need this." She held the ancient sword out to him.

He approached, reaching for it and she placed it into his hands. About to step back and let him go, she changed her mind. "James..." Standing on tiptoe, she reached up and kissed him hard.

* * *

Heading up to the Starbase command levels, Kehlan was unsurprised to find her colleagues already there. They, like every other officer in the room were staring at the viewscreen. Something... was slicing through space. Plasma and lightning flashed and burned, ripping the fabric of reality apart like so much cotton as clouds of boiling gas churned through the now visible rift, illuminating the… thing… that was coming through it.

Kehlan did not hesitate. Swiftly crossing the Ops room, she brought her hand crashing down on the console, activating the emergency alarm. "RED ALERT!" She spoke in a crisp, calm tone that belied her inner anxiety. "All hands to battle-stations, all ships mobilise... This is not a drill…"

She turned to the security chief, "Krang, you have command of Starbase defences. Khetara, take command of the Klingon fleet. I want that ship destroyed."

Not waiting for an answer, she opened another channel, "Endeavour, beam me direct to the bridge... and get…" Her instructions faded into nothingness as the beam took her and she disappeared from Ops.

* * *

N'Sal shook her head as Khetara's ship opened fire on the enemy vessel. It would do no good. No weapon could harm the Ship of Death, As she watched, the deadly beam went straight through the alien ship and narrowly missed Endeavour's port nacelle. N'Sal could almost hear Kehlan's curses as her newly repaired starship swerved out of the way.

As the allied ships surrounded the intruder, a runabout broke the circle, flying ever closer to danger, approaching the ghost ship like a moth to a lamp. N'Sal stared at the brightly painted image on the runabout's side. Every trace of its Starfleet origin had been removed and in its place was a Romulan firebird, its wings raised as it prepared for flight, two 20th century Terran Rapier missiles clutched in its claws. Illuminated by the flickering emergency lighting of the starbase and the phaser beams of the Starships, the feathers on its painted wings ruffled in a non-existent breeze and it seemed to N'Sal that the firebird was coming alive.

* * *

Seated at Rapier's helm, Mackenzie stared intently at the screen as he manipulated the controls, bringing the runabout nose to nose with the ghost ship. There was no point in his opening fire. This was not a battle of physical weapons. The other ships, he saw, had apparently come to the same conclusion; they were no longer firing on the enemy vessel. There was nothing they could do now but wait and bear witness.

Getting to his feet, Mackenzie drew the ancient katana from its sheath, mentally thanking his wife for her thoughtfulness. It was no real use in this fight but he felt better with a blade in his hand. Closing his eyes, he focused on his chosen battlefield. Rapier faded and in his mind another vessel took its place.

Opening his eyes again, he stared around him, nodding in satisfaction at the scene. The deck lurched beneath his feet, wooden boards creaking ominously as waves crashed against the ship, salt spray filling the air. Another glance showed him neatly trimmed sails, the wheel, the carved figurehead - a phoenix, he noted... yes, this would do. This was where he would fight. Hearing heavy footsteps, he turned in readiness. His foe approached.

"So! Here you are!" A figure dressed as a pirate, cutlass in hand, moved towards Mackenzie, his voice low and threatening. "I told you I would return."

Mackenzie stared at the Dutchman, his gaze steady and unconcerned. "And I told you that I would be waiting. These people are under my protection. You will not take them."

The Dutchman gave a harsh laugh, "I have had a long time to prepare for this... and this time I will prevail." Raising his cutlass, he attacked.


	3. Chapter 3

Endeavour's bridge was silent. The crew focused on their jobs, keeping the ship on station and ready to protect the Starbase should the Dutchman dare to venture closer. Their attention was focused also on their captain as she stood tensely in front of the view screen, her hand resting lightly on the _d'k'tahg_ that hung from the belt of her Starfleet uniform.

Concentrating on the lonely shuttlecraft facing down the enemy, Kehlan offered her husband what mental strength she had. This was a battle she did not understand and she wanted nothing more than for it to be over and her mate safely back at her side having defeated this unknown and seemingly un-fightable enemy. She also wanted answers. Who was this enemy who called himself the Dutchman? What was her husband's involvement with him? How did you fight something that could not be killed?

* * *

Unknown and unseen beings on the ghost ship were aware of Kehlan's need. Trapped into unwilling service and fearful of their captor, they nevertheless responded to her need. What Kehlan desired to know, was memory for them, they had been imprisoned on this ship for many millennia, had been there the last time the Dutchman had hunted. Now they would share their knowledge with one who might have the power to set them free.

Images formed in Kehlan's mind... blurred at first but as her surprised mind seized on them, they sharpened and came into focus. Her grip tightened spasmodically on her _d'k'tahg_ , violet blood trickling down her fingers as the spiked pommel cut into her palm and she staggered slightly under the onslaught and intensity of the images assailing her. Across the fleet and on board the starbase, regardless of their own telepathic ability, the crew and officers who were closest to Kehlan, who called her friend or even family, were caught by surprise as they saw what she saw.

* * *

Clouds swirled across Kehlan's vision before fading into blackness and as her sight faded so did her other senses. The soft chirping of the machinery, the slight sounds of her crew quietly going about their work, the carpeted deck beneath her boots… all gone until nothing was left but complete sensory deprivation.

It felt like forever but just as mindless panic threatened to overwhelm her, it was over as quickly as it had begun. The sense of smell was the first to return, salt and dampness replacing the crisp scent of recycled air in her lungs. Her hearing quickly followed as the silence gave way to the creaking of wooden boards and the flap of sails in a bitingly cold wind.

Kehlan shivered, instinctively pulling the heavy, fur lined cloak that adorned her shoulders further around her, registering only a moment of surprise at her change of attire. A minute ago she'd been wearing a Starfleet uniform.

She looked around her. That she was on a boat… a ship rather, she corrected herself, although a very small one by the standards of the 24th century… was obvious. This was no ship design that she'd ever encountered before. At the front of the ship she could see the figurehead. It was beautiful and she took a moment to admire its workmanship. A great dragon, head raised and jaws open as though to breathe fire, its wings half raised and curving protectively around the bow. There was life in the carving, she sensed. The spirit of the ship was enshrined there.

Behind her lay the mast, three women standing in front of it. Kehlan had never seen them before yet she knew them. Even now her friends were with her. She smiled, glad to see them but did not approach. Instead she turned her attention to the tall figure standing by the bow.

Wearing a heavy cloak overlaid with the skin of some animal Kehlan did not recognise, and a tunic and leggings made of some sort of suede, Mackenzie seemed completely at home in the harsh environment of what the quiet voices in the back of Kehlan's mind, told her was a Viking long-ship.

Mackenzie turned slightly and met her eyes, a faint acknowledging smile creasing his lips. He knew her… oh yes, he knew her. The moment over, he looked away again, turning his attention back to the dark figure standing on the beach.

The cold, dark aura surrounding the one who in a later era would call himself the Dutchman was unmistakeable, as was the sense of fear… terror… with overtones of resignation and defeat… in the watching people huddled on the shoreline. The Dutchman stood between them and the long-ship. "You cannot save them." The words were gloating, full of menace and the promise of horrors to come, yet Mackenzie did not seem intimidated.

"You will not take them." Mackenzie's voice was calm, unmarred by anger or fear. "These people are under my protection and you will not harm them."

Derisive laughter replied. The Dutchman was cocky, unaccustomed to challenge or defeat. None had ever stood against him. The souls of these people would be his as was his right and legacy. No upstart human could hope to defeat him.

On board the long-ship, another figure, taller and heavier set than Mackenzie, but dressed in a very similar manner, approached and touched Mackenzie's shoulder. Whoever this man was, he held himself in a manner that spoke of power and authority. Mackenzie turned and the two spoke together in low voices. Kehlan could not hear the words but she knew what was being said. This man would guard his back, prevent interference or treachery.

In his hand, he held a sword. Kehlan had seen similar weapons in the museum of Warfare on Earth and recognised it as early Viking; a short single handed pommel with a mushroom like cap on the end, reminding her somewhat incongruously of the design of Starbase 24. He held the blade out to Mackenzie who accepted it, bowing his head momentarily in acknowledgement of the gift.


	4. Chapter 4

In the Ops centre of Starbase 24, nobody moved, their attention fixed firmly on the Rapier. There was nothing any of them could do - all depended on the mental battle being fought on the tiny craft. Their duty was to bear witness and to offer mental strength and support - because if their admiral fell, they all fell with him.

Krang had been leaning over his console, studying the schematics with fierce concentration when the visions had called him. Sensing their importance, the Klingon warrior had not resisted, instead he allowed his mind to relax, to let the visions in and show him what he needed to see.

Krang knew little of Earth's ancient history – just enough to understand that he was on board a Viking long-ship, maybe a thousand years or so in the past. His warrior's instincts kicking in, he looked around him, assessing the situation – taking note of his location and the people around him, particularly the three Viking women standing by the mast. His gaze swept over them, instantly dismissing them as a threat. These three were allies. His consciousness was drawn to the third of the three and their eyes met. She smiled at him, a gentle, loving smile and his heart lightened. Even here his Chrissie, his beloved wife was with him.

Close to the three but clearly separate, stood another woman, more richly dressed than the others. She was oblivious to his gaze, her attention fixed firmly on the tall warrior standing by the guard rails. He followed her gaze and as he looked at the warrior, some inner knowledge contained in the body he inhabited told him what he must do.

A bundle of cloth lay on the deck by the figurehead. He moved towards it and sinking to one knee, he carefully reached out and lifted the cloth, unravelling it to reveal the ancient, ceremonial sword hidden in its folds.

With a few steps, he crossed the deck and held the sword out to the tall warrior. "You will need this, old friend."

Mackenzie accepted the gift. "I will do it justice," he promised gravely.

Krang met the other man's eyes "Fight well, brother. The lives and souls of all of us are in your hands."

Acknowledging, Mackenzie turned and in one easy motion, vaulted the rails, landing with a splash in the shallow water before wading ashore to meet his foe.

It went against every fibre of Krang's being to stand back and let another face danger for him, but he knew he had no choice. This was fated. Mackenzie was his friend and brother, he had to place his trust in him to fulfil his role, much as he did not like it. He had his own role to play and if, all the gods forbid, Mackenzie failed, he would destroy this ship and all on board it before he would allow the Dutchman to take their souls. Grimly he turned his attention back to the battle.

He did not know how long he had been standing there by the railings when the scene began to fade from his mind, his consciousness pulling him back to the realities of that other life on the Starbase.  
The Ops room began to solidify around him and by his side he sensed that N'Sal also was stirring. It felt horribly wrong and in confirmation of that, he heard a voice echoing in his mind... Kehlan's voice...

 _"Krang!"_ Her voice was faint, barely audible as though heard from a great distance _"Krang! Concentrate! Stay in the vision. You are the link... the anchor."_

Unquestioning, he closed his eyes, imagining the decks of the long-ship, the salty air and the clash of weapons and just like that, the Starbase was gone as though it had never existed and he was once again the Viking warrior.

* * *

A slight movement drew Kehlan's attention away from the fight and towards the women by the mast. Three women... Three... It was a sacred number. She looked at the women, finding that she knew them. As the tall warrior was Krang, so too were her three closest friends here with her.

Khetara, N'Sal, Chrissie. Three women, each of them there for a reason, yet it eluded her. It came to her then and she almost laughed. The three faces of the goddess, a religion so old it had long since faded beyond myth and legend, old enough to make even the ancient Norse gods look like infants.

Khetara, the Warrior... Chrissie, the Mother... N'Sal... A grin broke out on Kehlan's face at the thought. Her Romulan friend would not appreciate being cast as the Maiden. Yet the description was not incorrect – and the Maiden was also the Priestess.

The Priestess moved forward and approached the bow of the ship. The warriors gathered there silently moved out of her way. She stopped by the figurehead and reached, caressing the wooden form of the great carved dragon adorning the prow. Her movements slow and dreamlike, she stroked its length and then, began to tap out a beat in response to a rhythm that only she could hear.

The sound was hypnotic and Kehlan found herself drawn deeper and deeper into it. Her mind whirled with images - the combatants fighting on the beach... her mate facing down the Dutchman aboard N'Sal's modified runabout... the three Viking women... the lost souls trapped against their will into service with the Dutchman...

She shook her head. That was far in the future, wasn't it? The beat continued and caught up in it, Kehlan slowly began to understand what must be done. Time did not always flow in one direction. Like a river it had eddies, backflows. What happened in the future could affect the past.

The half Klingon woman closed her eyes, forcing her attention away from the present and picturing the bridge of her ship. It all seemed so far away, dreamlike unreal. She clenched her fists and concentrated harder and by sheer willpower, wrenched herself away from the Viking ship and back to that other life.

The sudden change was disorienting and she staggered. It had taken all her strength to bring herself back here and standing up suddenly seemed more than she was capable of.


	5. Chapter 5

Her sister caught her, steadied her, "Kehlan, are you okay?" Mara's voice still sounded very from away but at her twin's touch, Kehlan understood the final piece of the puzzle.

With some effort, she nodded, "I'm fine." Reaching out, she opened a channel. "Priority One. Kehlan to Khetara, N'Sal and Christa Inigan. I need you here, right now!"

Allowing the channel to close again, she glanced at her sister, "I'll need you too." Exhausted, she sank back into her chair and waited for her friends.

N'Sal and Khetara arrived quickly and even as Kehlan stood to greet them the final member of the group was also arriving. Krang's Terran wife looked worried and unsure of herself. Unlike the others she was a civilian and not accustomed to being in the centre of a battle, much less one for their very souls. Nevertheless she had been chosen and she answered the call, however much it frightened her.

"I'm sorry to ask this of you, my friends," Kehlan said, "but you are needed."

"What do you want of us?" Chrissie asked nervously.

"I..." Kehlan hesitated, she did not know how to express the instinctive knowledge she had received through her link with the lost souls. "You three... N'Sal, you are the priestess, Chrissie is the mother... and Khetara, you are the warrior."

"The crone you mean?" Khetara grinned, "Yes, I know the legends... the three faces of the goddess."

Kehlan nodded, "Well that makes it easier," she said, "Together we can fight this thing."

Mara frowned, "If those three are the goddess, what are you? And what is my role in this?"

"I am a telepath" Kehlan said, trying to explain, "A very weak one, but it is enough. I am the focus... and you my sister... you are my strength and my support. We are one, you and I. Together we channel the power of the goddess and free the trapped souls."

"We share the same genes," Mara acknowledged, "Very well, what I have is yours. Just tell me what to do."

"That's just it," Kehlan frowned," This sort of thing doesn't exactly come with an instruction manual. I don't know."

N'Sal was silent for a moment, "Join hands, close your eyes and concentrate on Kehlan." She could not have said where the knowledge came from... the link she shared with Kehlan, maybe...

Somewhat self-consciously, Chrissie and Khetara took N'Sal's proffered hands and did as she instructed. They stood on Endeavour's bridge, ignoring the watching crewmembers; N'Sal in the middle, Khetara on the right and Chrissie on the left. Kehlan and Mara moved closer and linking with them, formed a circle.

Her eyes closing, Kehlan attempted to reach out, to renew contact with the alien souls trapped on board the Dutchman's vessel. The link was weak but she drew strength from her friends and after a few dizzying moments, she felt their presence in her mind.

The souls were hungry for the power she channelled, greedily syphoning it away from her and as a sense of weakness filled her, her knees buckled and her consciousness began to fade, taking with it the link.

Mara sensed the change in her sister and tightened her grip on her hand, "Take my strength, sister, it is yours. You and I are one." The more Terran of the two sisters neither understood nor wanted all this mumbo jumbo, but for her sister, she would do what was needed without hesitation. Concentrating fiercely, she mentally sent everything she had to her beleaguered twin.

* * *

As the small group of women helped the lost souls to fight for their freedom, on board the Rapier and far away in space and time on an old Viking ship, Admiral James Mackenzie was fighting for the freedom of all of them... the intensity of the conflict grew and escalated, until all of them could feel the malevolent power of the Dutchman. It would be over soon, for better or worse, none could say!

On every level of consciousness, Mackenzie fought his enemy. In the here and now, he was standing, apparently alone, in the cockpit of the Rapier, the ex-Starfleet shuttle he had borrowed from N'Sal. In his mind however, the true battlefield, he was fighting on the deck of an old fashioned square rigged sailing ship. Steel blades clashed and sparks flew as the Dutchman pressed him, seeking an advantage, trying to push him back. But the admiral held his ground. Alone, he could not win this fight; he could only hope that those who sought to assist him knew what to do and that his interference could keep the Dutchman occupied long enough for them to do their jobs without him noticing until it was too late.

Far in the past, across time and space, he was also fighting, this time on a cold, windswept sandy beach. Somewhere in the future he was fighting, but he knew nothing of that battle for it had not yet occurred. Nor was he assured of winning the fight in the past, for here in this realm time was meaningless. Past and present intermingled and what happened in the future, would affect the past. It should not be so. Physics said it was impossible, but physics did not take into account the rare juxtaposition of the belief systems of three major empires... and today the barriers between the physical and spirit worlds were almost completely non-existent. Today anything could happen.

Twisting to avoid a particularly savage blow from the Dutchman, Mackenzie caught sight of N'Sal out of the corner of his eye, as she moved to caress the carved wooden figure head. He sensed the slightest beginnings of life, of movement and quickly turned away, determined that the Dutchman should not notice. He was tiring now, but N'Sal had given him renewed hope and gritting his teeth, he intensified the attack on the ancient enemy.

On all levels the Dutchman was ready for him, meeting and returning every blow. But even as there on the beach he was driving Mackenzie into the shallow water… and on the decks of the galleon, was pressing his enemy hard against the railing... and as the Mackenzie on board the Rapier was driven to his knees by a sharp stab of mental agony, it was already too late for the Dutchman.

On Endeavour's bridge, Kehlan and those who represented the goddess offered up the last dregs of energy available to them, energy that was greedily accepted by the trapped souls on the ghost ship as they made one final, desperate push for freedom.


	6. Chapter 6

On Endeavour's bridge, the proximity alarms went off with a strident howl and the ship's computer automatically engaged light and radiation filters as a blinding flash lit the screen, causing the watching officers to wince and cover their eyes.

At the same moment the Rapier was engulfed by light, Kehlan slipped quietly into unconsciousness, her body sliding to the ground in an undignified heap. Her collapse broke the link between her friends and the lost souls, freeing Khetara, N'Sal and Chrissie from the bonds that had held them united.

N'Sal, her mind and body overloaded by the dual role she had played in two timeframes, quickly followed Kehlan into oblivion. As Chrissie tiredly moved to assist her, the third member of the party, Khetara, fell to her knees. But there was one more thing to do before she could allow the exhaustion to claim her. With one last supreme effort, she raised her hand to her combadge, a slight smile crossing her face as she summoned the starship that lay cloaked and hidden nearby. Ostensibly sent back to Earth several days ago, only she and Mackenzie were aware of its presence. "Khetara to USS Soulwolf. De-cloak, engage the phase shift and fire at will."

* * *

On the Viking beach, a slight rippling became definite movement. Sunlight flashed off dazzling white fangs and an ear-splitting roar rent the air. Sulphurous fumes assaulted the nostrils and the very air seemed to burn as, summoned by the priestess, the dragon launched itself from the structure of the long-ship and attacked the Dutchman. Busy with his foe, the Dutchman never saw it coming.

* * *

Distorted phaser and torpedo fire flew from the Soulwolf and impacted the Dutchman, the blasts appearing to ripple through the ghost ship, making it shudder and sway as if caught in a storm. The enemy ship seemed to burn under the fire-power unleashed. The blast faded into nothing and for a horrible moment it looked as if the enemy was unharmed.

Doubled over in agony, Mackenzie peered through the view port at the bow of the ghost ship and for a moment he fancied he saw a bird formed out of pure white flames, its beak and talons open and extended for the attack.

Soulwolf opened fire again and the Firebird that he knew only he could perceive, seemed to dip its claws into the energy stream of the starship's weapons. It rode the stream as it impacted, the plasma tearing into its target as the preternatural bird ripped into the flesh of the Dutchman himself.

* * *

Semi-conscious on the deck of the Endeavour, N'Sal's eyes flew open, her irises blazing red as her back arched spasmodically. _"Protector! Strike!"_ she screamed.

The burning breath of the dragon, freed from the prow of the long-ship, turned the beach to glass. The Dutchman reeled, instinctively covering his face. Inevitably on the slick surface, he lost his footing and fell.  
The Viking warrior raised his sword. The captain of the Galleon raised his cutlass. Admiral Mackenzie raised his Katana. The blade reflected the fire and carnage. Energy weapons lashed out at the enemy and the Protector obeyed the injunction of the Goddess who guided him.

They struck.

* * *

Kehlan dreamed. Her strength completely used up, she lay unconscious on the deck, her sister bending over her to check on her welfare. Dimly she heard Mara speaking. "Bridge to Sickbay, medical emergency!"

But while her body slept, her mind and spirit roamed free as the lost souls of the Dutchman's ship allowed her to witness their final moments of captivity and the beginning of their salvation.

Everything had come together, fate had intervened and protected. The goddess herself had spoken. And as Mackenzie's desperate struggle with the enemy kept him distracted and unaware of the greater plan, the spirits themselves rose up against the abomination. As firebird in the present and dragon in the past came to life from carved wood and paint to defeat the ancient foe, so did the Soul of the Wolf; the totem of the starship come into existence, its purpose to lead the trapped souls to freedom. For the imprisonment and torture of souls was anathema to the Soulwolf and as its weapons lashed out with deadly force to destroy the ghost ship, its spirit added its power to that of the goddess channelled through Kehlan.

* * *

Suddenly the Dutchman was enveloped in a bright flash of multi-coloured light that forced anyone in range to look away or risk being blinded. When it faded the Dutchman was gone, the only traces of his passing being tiny particles of light spreading out from the ghost ship's last position before they too faded from existence, like the vestiges of a bad dream. It was finally over.

* * *

Endeavour limped back into dock, having first stopped to pick up the crippled runabout. Rapier's hull was almost shattered and life support was offline along with all but last resort solar batteries. As the waiting medics recovered the injured admiral and rushed him to sickbay, deckhands moved in to drain the last of the fuel from leaking engine plants and make Rapier safe. As they worked, not one of them had the time to notice that underneath the damage and carbon scoring, the firebird that stretched proudly across Rapier's prow had changed. Talons that had clawed menacingly towards the enemy, clutching death were now relaxed and folded peaceably. For now, mission accomplished, the totem artwork slept.


End file.
